Pain.
That was the first thing he knew.
It wasn't just pain—it was something deeper, something raw, as if every fiber of his being had been ripped apart and remade into something unholy. The fire of the divine had been burned out of him, leaving behind only a hollow husk.
Asrael was falling.
He could feel it, the rush of air against his skin, the weight of gravity pulling him down. The stars blurred into streaks of light above him, distant and cold, as if heaven itself had turned its back on him.
He reached for his wings—instinct, nothing more—but they didn't respond. His heart lurched as he realized why.
They were gone.
Not fully, but enough. Torn, ruined, blackened at the edges. Feathers drifted around him like dying embers, crumbling to ash as they were swallowed by the wind.
And then—
Impact.
The ground rose up to meet him in an explosion of earth and fire. The force split the land apart, sending cracks through the barren soil, the sheer energy of his fall enough to shake the night itself.
Silence followed.
For a long time, Asrael did not move.
He lay in the smoking crater, eyes barely open, his vision a blur of stars and dust. His mind was caught between two realities—the one where he had been a warrior of the divine, and the one where he was this.
FALLEN. CURSED. FORSAKEN.
The first thing he became aware of was the cold.
The second was the absence of light.
Not the absence of the moon, nor the stars, but something else. Something deeper. For all his existence, he had been connected to the divine—every breath filled with the radiance of the heavens, every thought intertwined with the will of the Creator.
Now, there was nothing. A void. A deafening silence where light should have been.
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to move.
Pain screamed through him, but he ignored it, pressing his hands into the earth and pushing up onto his knees. His fingers trembled as he looked down at them.
No longer bathed in celestial light.
No longer the hands of a Seraph.
They were something else now. Something darker.
A gust of wind tore through the ruined land, carrying with it the scent of blood and ash. His wings twitched at his back—what little remained of them—but even that small movement sent fire through his spine.
The heavens had not just cast him down.
They had broken him.
THE GIRL...
A sound broke through the silence.
Footsteps.
Slow. Careful. Drawing closer.
His body tensed, instinct taking over. Was it them? Had the Seraphim come to finish what they started?
He turned his head sharply—and froze.
It wasn't an angel.
It was her.
She stood at the edge of the crater, bathed in silver moonlight, her dark eyes wide with fear and something else. Something he couldn't quite name.
Recognition.
Asrael's breath caught. Could she truly know him? The thought was absurd. The heavens had erased him from existence. His name had been wiped from the celestial records, his presence buried in oblivion. To mortals, he had never existed.
And yet—
She stared at him, unmoving, her lips slightly parted.
A breeze lifted her hair, carrying her scent to him—a scent he knew. A scent he had memorized in the stolen moments he had watched over her.
Impossible.
His throat felt dry, the weight of a thousand sins pressing down on his chest.
He had not planned for this. Had not dared to dream that she would see him, know him.
But she did.
She stepped forward. Hesitant. Careful.
"Asrael?"
His name on her lips. A prayer, a question, a wound.
And in that moment, he understood.
She remembered.
The girl he had FALLEN for…
Had not forgotten him.